


Accelerator

by sequence_fairy



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series), Watcher Entertainment RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Car Sex, Established Relationship, Inspired by The Fast and the Furious, M/M, Playing fast and loose with the Fast and the Furious vibes to be honest, Semi-Public Sex, Street Racing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:40:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25131019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sequence_fairy/pseuds/sequence_fairy
Summary: “Wanna make this interesting?”“The usual?” Ryan asks, and Shane nods. Their usual bet is a win-win for both of them, though neither will give any ground. Shane’s gut swoops when Ryan smiles at him, all filthy promise.“You’re on,” Ryan says, and resettles his sunglasses back into place and revs his engine.Shane’s Skyline is lighter than the beast of a Charger that rumbles beside him, but the Skyline is Shane’s baby, and she’s tuned to perfection.“See you in my rearview,” Shane calls. Ryan gives him the finger without looking.Street racing is a way of life, and so is everything that comes with it.
Relationships: Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej
Comments: 39
Kudos: 171





	Accelerator

**Author's Note:**

> No one look too deeply at why seeing Ryan and Shane in the racing jumpsuits got me in my Fast and the Furious feels. 
> 
> Thanks to [Mel](http://justcourbeau.tumblr.com) for the beta, and to the book club for all their support. 
> 
> Perhaps you should listen to [this](https://open.spotify.com/album/67YN1cmHvY67NxncJ22Hah?si=Ab4uunyDQjavNZ9WLncOmA) while you read.

_Drive back baby, to me, fast in your car_   
_I'm here waiting, crash into me real hard_

* * *

They’re riding out towards the outskirts of town, burning off the last of the daylight behind the wheel. It’s been a long week. Shane’s certainly had easier ones. There’s a lingering odor of motor oil in his hair that he can’t quite get out. He rolls down the window, letting the cooler evening air pour into the car with him, blowing the smell and the memories associated with it out. 

The city streets are virtually empty. Ahead, the light turns amber, and Shane rolls to a stop, waiting for Ryan to catch up. The Charger rumbles to a stop next to Shane, and Ryan looks over, all dark hair and dark glasses.

“Hey, hot-shot,” Ryan says. 

The nickname is stupid, Shane is aware, but it doesn’t stop him from wanting to live up to it. He ignores the desire to rev the engine in response and looks up and over to his right. The man in the car next to him is broad-shouldered, and one large arm rests on the sill of his car’s driver’s side window. 

“You up for this?” There’s something more than just the request for a race in Ryan’s question. Shane can feel him grasping at the edges of a return to normal, trying to find a way to forget the clench of Shane’s hands around Ryan’s arms, and the way Ryan’s eyes had been wide and afraid when he’d woken and found Shane looking down at him, all the breath gone out of him.

The intersection they’re stopped at is the start of a quarter mile straight-away they are both intimately familiar with. It surprises Shane sometimes, how often his car carries him here, even though it’s been years since he’s raced her against anyone other than Ryan’s beast of a machine. Shane’s suddenly itching to let the horses out from under the cherry-red hood of his Skyline. 

The light goes from amber to red. 

Shane grins. “You think you can take me, baby?” 

Ryan laughs, and the sound makes Shane’s blood sing. Ryan lifts his hand to pull down the sunglasses resting on his nose. He turns to look over at Shane, one side of his mouth quirked up. Heat blooms in Shane’s belly as Ryan catches his gaze. 

They share a long look. 

Shane knows, even if he can’t see it now in the dusk light, that the shadow of bruising still circles Ryan’s wrists.

Every time Shane closes his eyes, he can see the flex of Ryan’s back, as he teetered on his tiptoes, holding himself up by sheer force of will, arms hauled over his head and fixed with metal cuffs. Shane can still hear the jingle of the chains, can still taste the sour air of the shed they’d found Ryan in.

He swallows against bile that rises in the back of his throat. 

They’d been just in time, too. They hadn’t gotten quite far enough away when the building went up in a torrent of flame. The concussion of the blast had knocked Shane off his feet, left his ears ringing and the taste of blood in his mouth. 

Shane looks down at his hands around his steering wheel. He flexes his fingers, feeling the give of the leather, grounding himself against the assault of memory. 

“Wanna make this interesting?” 

“The usual?” Ryan asks, and Shane nods. Their usual bet is a win-win for both of them, though neither will give any ground. Shane’s gut swoops when Ryan smiles at him, all filthy promise. 

“You’re on,” Ryan says, and resettles his sunglasses back into place and revs his engine. 

Shane’s Skyline is lighter than the beast of a Charger that rumbles beside him, but the Skyline is Shane’s baby, and she’s tuned to perfection. 

“See you in my rearview,” Shane calls. Ryan gives him the finger without looking. 

The traffic light goes from red to green, and they’re off. 

-:-

Shane’s world narrows to the whine of his engine as he approaches the top end of the tachometer and then punches the car through a quick shift, feeling her gather herself under him and then the push of torque as she zips forward. The city slips by outside his window, street lights sliding over the red paint. 

Ryan’s a bit behind him now, but Shane knows not to get too caught up in that. 

A quarter mile in ten seconds is less a race against the other car on the track, and more a race against your own reflexes. Shane would be lying if he said there was anything better than the feel of the car under you as it eats the pavement like it was born to it.

Shane shifts again, eyes flicking from the pavement in front of him to the gauges on the dash. The speedometer climbs, and the tachometer approaches red again. Shane shifts, gear knob fitting smooth into the palm of his hand and pedals moving easy against the push of his foot. 

The NOS switch is oh-so-tempting, but it’s not time yet, not with Ryan still riding close and the Charger not even straining.

The Skyline is fast. She’s eager, she wants to go and Shane wants to let her, but he’s got to hold her back ‘til the very last moment. Timing, in a ten second drag, is everything. 

His eyes catch on the landmark he needs, the last streetlight before the agreed upon end of their quarter mile. Shane reaches for the switch on his centre console, priming the pump in anticipation. The Charger barrels along beside him, but Shane doesn’t spare Ryan a glance. 

He flips the switch and hears the hiss of the gas through the lines and then feels the punch of it in the acceleration of the car. The force pushes him back against his seat, and his grip tightens around the steering wheel. The road whips by, white lines a blur in his periphery. 

The finish line arrives faster than Shane can blink. 

Once he’s across it, he eases back, letting the car decelerate and shifting down and down again, and down a couple more times until he can coast her to an easy stop. She’s warm, he can feel the heat coming off her even inside. 

Shane knows he’s won even before he’s come to a complete stop. His heart is pounding, adrenaline fizzing through his veins and buzzing across his skin. There is nothing like this, it is the purest rush.

Shane’s jumped off buildings, he’s walked away from explosions, he’s been thrown through the air. He has the scars, on his skin and carved under it, to prove he’s had the near misses, but he’s never found anything else that leaves him breathless with exhilaration like a perfect quarter mile. 

Ryan’s already out of the Charger, and loping across the distance between their cars. Shane lets go of the wheel as Ryan’s sliding in beside him, sunglasses already discarded onto the dash of Shane’s car.

-:-

Ryan’s all hands and mouth, and pushy with both. 

He’s always like this when they go fast, always like this when Shane beats him, always easy and hot and desperate with it. 

Shane lets him lean in over the console, lets him crowd Shane back into the window, lets Ryan’s mouth find all the places under Shane’s jaw that make Shane’s blood sing and make him want to push Ryan down in the backseat like they’re teenagers. 

The air goes thick and hot between them as Shane’s hands come up around Ryan’s arms, and Ryan’s tongue slides into his mouth. Ryan’s nearly in Shane’s lap.

They’ve been dancing around this since the explosion, since Shane rolled Ryan over and watched him breathe, since Ryan sat up and pulled Shane in like he couldn’t find anything else to hold onto that was sturdy enough. Shane wants it, wants Ryan to take him apart and put him back together again, wants to do the same in return. He wants to remember what it feels like to have Ryan under him, and over him and wrapped around him. 

Shane gasps into the kiss when Ryan’s hands slide up under Shane’s shirt. He could let it happen here, sitting in a running car, on the side of the road, three blocks from the beach. 

Instead, he pushes Ryan back, and looks him in the eye. 

Ryan’s eyes are dark, shining in the streetlights. His hair is mussed, falling over his forehead. Shane can see the shadow of Ryan’s stubble, and under that, the shadow of a bruise that still hasn’t quite healed along the side of his jaw.

“We should take this somewhere else,” Shane suggests, shifting in his seat. 

The Skyline is not made for car sex, which is hugely unfortunate and the next car he acquires will certainly be something with a little more headroom. 

“Your place, or mine?” Ryan asks, and Shane goes all over hot at the gravel of Ryan’s voice.

Shane reaches up to draw the fingers of one hand down Ryan’s jaw. “Baby,” he says, and watches Ryan’s eyes flutter shut, eyelashes resting like soot against his cheeks. Ryan leans into Shane’s touch. 

“Where do you wanna go, Shane?” Ryan asks. There’s a whine in his voice that makes Shane want to lay him out and do unspeakable things to the interior of the Charger. 

“I know a place,” Shane says, letting his hand drop. Ryan sways forward like he wants to follow Shane’s hand but catches himself. “Follow me,” Shane says, and turns the engine over. 

“Gonna make me drive to my own booty call?” Ryan asks, lower lip jutting out in a dramatic pout.

Shane’s own mouth quirks. “I won, remember?” 

“A fluke,” Ryan says, “I’d cream you on the long average, even if the Skyline puts up a decent run or two.” 

“You keep talking shit and no one’ll get creamed tonight,” Shane says. 

There’s a beat of silence before Ryan’s laughing, head thrown back. Shane has to turn to look. He loves watching Ryan laugh. Loves knowing it’s him that makes Ryan lose it like that. Is delirious with the knowledge that he gets to see this, over and over, that he didn’t lose it in a tower of flame and noise.

“C’mon,” Shane says, once Ryan’s calmed down to a snickering wheeze. “Get in your monster car and follow me.” 

“Taking me to a secondary location, Shane? I’m all a-twitter,” Ryan teases, laughter still threaded through his voice. 

“I’m not taking you anywhere,” Shane argues, “you’re driving yourself. And we’re wasting time.” 

“In a hurry?” Ryan asks. There’s an obvious innuendo in Ryan’s voice, and it makes Shane’s insides go hot. 

Two can play at this game, though, Shane knows. He turns to look at Ryan, puts all the wanting in his eyes and watches as Ryan’s mouth drops open, and Ryan’s eyes dilate. “Think I’ll take my time,” Shane says, low and warm. Ryan shivers. Shane would bet there’s goosebumps all down the backs of Ryan’s arms.

“Yeah, okay,” Ryan says, after a long moment. “I’ll—follow you.” He’s fumbly putting his sunglasses back on and Shane feels a deep, abiding, satisfaction.

“Stay close, baby,” Shane says, as Ryan’s shutting the door behind him. “Don’t wanna get lost, do you?” 

Ryan shakes his head, once. It’s a tight movement, economical. 

Ryan turns to walk back to his car, and Shane shamelessly watches him go. 

-:-

Ryan takes Shane’s advice literally and tailgates him the whole way to the parking lot they like down at the northern end of one of the public beaches. 

Above them, the sky is a field of stars. The ocean rumbles in the distance; the low hissing roar of waves on sand. 

Ryan gets out of the Charger and Shane backs him up against the driver’s door, using their weight to make sure it clicks shut. Ryan’s body is a hot line all along his front and Ryan’s hands come up to grip at Shane’s waist, before sliding up underneath both of Shane’s shirts. 

Shane breaks the kiss to mouth at the skin beneath Ryan’s ear. “Gonna get you in the backseat,” he says, in a low rumble, “and then I’m gonna take you apart.” Shane punctuates with a bite and Ryan whines and jerks against Shane. 

“Gonna fuckin’ ruin you, Bergara,” Shane husks. 

“Do it,” Ryan gasps, hands flexing against Shane’s spine. “Please.” 

“Get in the car,” Shane says, stepping back from Ryan. 

Ryan sidesteps, reaching for the handle of the door and getting it open and then getting into the backseat. Shane follows him in. 

Even for a big car, there’s not that much room in the back, and it’s a bit awkward as they rearrange themselves into a messy sprawl of limbs. Ryan pulls the door shut behind Shane, reaching around him and then scooting back as far as he can, giving Shane room to get in between Ryan’s knees. 

Shane crowds Ryan back, kissing him until they’re both breathless. Ryan grinds up under Shane, and Shane’s hands come around his hips, holding him back. 

“Wait,” he says, into the skin of Ryan’s neck, Ryan’s breathing harsh in Shane’s ear. 

“Shane,” Ryan says, restless under Shane’s hands. “Don’t tease.” 

“Winner,” Shane reminds him, leaning in to suck a bruise into the join of Ryan’s neck, worrying at the skin with his teeth. “I get to do what I like, don’t I?” 

Shane draws one hand across the front of Ryan’s pants, palming the hard length of him through the layers of clothes between them.

Ryan groans and pushes his hips up into Shane’s hand. 

“Stay there,” Shane says, and shifts back, plucking open Ryan’s pants and tugging them down off his hips, taking his underwear with them, and freeing Ryan to the open air. 

Ryan’s head thunks back against the window when Shane gets a spit-slick hand around him, and jacks him, slow and steady. Shane leans up, covering Ryan with his body, and finds Ryan’s mouth with his. 

Ryan pants into the kiss, squirming against the deliberately too slow handjob he’s receiving, trying to fuck up faster into the circle of Shane’s fist. Shane pins him with his free hand, pushing against Ryan’s chest and restricting his movement. Ryan whines into Shane’s mouth. 

Shane lifts his head, watching Ryan’s eyes find him in the dark of the car. They’ve gone hazy and heavy-lidded. Ryan’s mouth is kiss-swollen, and Shane knows if there was more light, he’d be able to see the flush across his cheeks. 

“Gorgeous,” Shane says, leaning in to nuzzle at Ryan’s temple. “You look so good,” he says, letting himself look down. Ryan’s dick disappearing into the grip of Shane’s fist sends a bolt of heat through Shane. “You’re so desperate for it,” Shane says, looking back up at Ryan’s face. 

There’s want in every line of Ryan’s body, stamped hard into the way Ryan’s mouth has dropped open and his eyes have squeezed shut. Shane’s never seen anything he wanted to ruin more. 

“F— _ fuck _ , Shane,” Ryan moans. His hips jerk, and his hands around Shane’s waist dig in hard. 

“You want it so bad, you’re letting me jerk you off in the backseat of your daddy’s car, where anyone could see us.” 

“Don’t—” Ryan starts, but Shane cuts him off with a kiss. 

The Charger was Ryan’s dad’s car before it was Ryan’s. There’s a whole mess of childhood trauma wrapped up in the chassis, but also the lingering feeling of the forbidden in the act of fucking in the backseat, like they’re going to get caught, like Ryan’s going to get caught. He’s panting into Shane’s mouth, each inhalation hitching in time with the slide of Shane’s palm over his dick. 

“You’re gonna make a fucking mess of this interior,” Shane says, like he’s not at all the reason for Ryan making a mess in the first place. 

Ryan’s body tightens, and he flails one hand out, fingers catching in the leather of the seat back. “I’m gonna—” 

Shane squeezes around the base of Ryan’s cock, and then stops moving his hand all together. 

Ryan’s breath goes out of him like a balloon being deflated. His eyes narrow when he looks up at Shane. 

Shane smiles, and leans in to kiss Ryan again. This time, when his hand moves, he doesn’t stop, and Ryan’s body jumps and pushes against the weight of Shane’s, straining towards the end. 

Shane breaks the kiss just enough to watch Ryan’s face as he goes over the edge, spilling over Shane’s fist with a keening sound that goes straight to Shane’s dick.

Ryan’s quick to push Shane off, and then push him back and get his hands on him. Shane lifts his own hand to his mouth to clean off his fingers and Ryan grunts like he’s been punched and licks his lips. 

“Not sure you’ve cashed in your winnings, Madej,” Ryan says, shifting back, while he pushes up Shane’s shirt and undoes Shane’s fly. 

“Oh, no,” Shane says, voice going tight as Ryan gets his dick out of his pants and licks a stripe up the underside, tongue hot. “I’m definitely the winner, here.” 

Shane drops his clean hand into Ryan’s hair, fingers tightening and tips his head back because looking at Ryan looking up at him through his eyelashes is a punch to the gut. 

Ryan doesn’t take his time. 

Shane’s orgasm slams into him like getting t-boned by someone going eighty miles an hour when you’re standing still. He comes down Ryan’s throat with one hand clutched in Ryan’s hair and his other hand dug into his own thigh, nails tight against his skin. He bites his own lip hard enough for the brief taste of blood to bloom over his tongue.

“Jesus,” Shane wheezes, when Ryan lifts off and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“Thought I was desperate for it,” Ryan observes, with a smug sort of lift to the corner of his mouth. “Who needs a ten second car when I’ve got a ten second man?” 

“Oh fuck you,” Shane says, without heat. He scrubs a hand through his hair and then down his face. 

-:-

Ryan passes Shane the lit joint as they sit on the hood of the Charger, backs leaned against the windshield. Shane takes the hit and holds the smoke in his lungs for as long as he can. He tilts his head back to exhale and takes another one before passing the joint back to Ryan. 

They smoke in companionable silence until the joint is burned down to the roach, and Ryan leans in to suck the last hit from in between Shane’s fingers and then Shane pitches the butt into the night as Ryan is hauling him in for a smoke-filled kiss. 

When they come up for air, Shane blinks slowly. 

“I still want to fuck you in this car,” he says, voice gone to gravel from the smoke. 

“Next time you beat me, you can fuck me on the hood of the car,” Ryan says, with the bravado of a man who knows the bet is one he will win either way. 

“You’re on,” Shane says.

**Author's Note:**

> Come chat with me about my fic on [tumblr](http://sequencefairy.tumblr.com) or on [twitter](https://twitter.com/warpspeed_chic). <3


End file.
